


Eyes to See

by Holde_Maid



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Introspection, Speculation, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 22:22:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7775932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holde_Maid/pseuds/Holde_Maid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft has been a most formative influence...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eyes to See

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rather speculative fic which may well be contradicted by canon at some point after the two and a half seasons of "Sherlock" that I've managed to watch so far. If so, please, let me know.
> 
> As always, neither the BBC series "Sherlock" nor the original books are in any way mine, and no copyright infringement is intended. I'm of course not making any money from this, either.

EYES TO SEE

Resentment... No, that expression did not quite cover it. Sherlock watched his brother Mycroft flick a few tiny crumbs off his formal tie. Formal, but not too formal, for his position. One did not want to give away that much.

When they had been teenagers, Mycroft had played at dressing up as a dandy for a while. One could still see traces of the mannerisms and the gait he had developed to go with the style at the time. If one had eyes to see. Yes, Sherlock resented those, mostly because the image change had payed off - Mycroft had become very popular with the girls. But for the rest, "resentment" was not quite the word of choice. Some of the secrets about those relationships Mycroft had chosen to share with Sherlock, and they had been quite repulsing. With this knowldegde at the back of his mind, reading a book on psychiatry had finally opened Sherlock's eyes to the fact that his brother was a sociopath, perhaps even a psychopath. However, by then it had been too late.

"Brother, dear," - oh, the veiled derision behind those two words! - "why ponder the past? It's over."

"Nuh, I wouldn't quite put it that way," he muttered, by force of habit trying to suppress his emotions.  
Mycroft had done his best to fashion his brother in his own image, and Sherlock had been changed forever; His life, his friends, his behaviour, his sexuality ... everything and everyone had suffered. 

Sherlock would have wished the motive were a twisted sort of caring, but it could hardly be that, now, could it? In all probability it was an advanced form of "gaslighting": Instilling self-doubt and enforcing isolation in order to exert control. Except Mycroft had made his brother himself do the dirty work of renouncing his own social contacts. Mycroft had simply sat back and watched, commenting frequently that closeness meant pain. And he had made sure that it did.

In retrospect Mycroft's means were shockingly easy to see through. No subtlety there. He had always meant for Sherlock to know what was happening, though at first his actions had been covert. The pets that had died too soon. Friends who had stopped coming over for a play-date. An early girl-friend who had suddenly started to look at him in a funny way and soon after had ended the relationship. Mycroft had seemed a little impatient when hearing about it, especially about her refusal to explain herself. That had been the first clue.

Heavy-lidded eyes met Sherlock's. "You wouldn't?" The usual disdainful authority coloured this query. Sherlock had often enough employed it himself when he had wanted people to stop thinking about something. That sort of insolence made you seem strong, proud, and cruel, and it distracted them. Well, most of them. Some had eyes to see.

He allowed a tiny sardonic grin to surface, but didn't answer. He wasn't going to offer Mycroft an opening for one of his stings.

How long it had taken Sherlock to recognise them for what they were, those little remarks! Mycroft had worked them into innocent conversations, had left clue after clue after clue, all carefully arranged so it would take some time before the puzzle could be put together. Even playing certain games - not just "Deductions" - had been part of it. So when a recognisable picture had presented itself to Sherlock, it had still come as a shock, even though he had long known that Mycroft was quite capeable of such deceit, of cruelty and crime. Of murder, even. 

Step by step Mycroft had made it clear to his brother that anyone he cared about, anyone who cared about him, was going to either hurt Sherlock or be hurt. And with time, the danger to those people had increased and increased along with the means Mycroft had at his disposal. So if Sherlock wanted the world at large to be safe - or at least a little safer - he had to stop people from liking him. He had gone about it in a scientific, methodical manner, and thus he had largely succeeded. Yet there still were a few... Molly loved him despite all the mean things he had done and said to her, it was just no good. She saw him for who he really was, and there was no way he could do anything about that. He could only keep up appearances, that was all. Mycroft might fall for it, or maybe Molly getting insulted now and again was enough. It had been enough so far, at least.

John ... well, John relished danger. If Mycroft threatened him, he would stick to Sherlock all the more, and Mycroft knew that. John knew it was dangerous to be with Sherlock, and he had made his choice. It would have been disrespectful ... No, blast it! The truth was, Sherlock could do nothing about that, either, and he was glad of it!

And now there were Anderson - who had once been so easily goaded into hating Sherlock - and Mary. Anderson was easy - he got on Sherlock's nerves, and it was a simple matter to make it look like one wished he were gone. Mycroft enjoyed the display very much, it seemed, for he reminded his brother of his fans now and again. Subtly, but not subtly enough. Mary, however, might prove to be a problem. For she, too, had eyes to see.


End file.
